The Hobbit and the Stranger
by NinjaOfTheDream
Summary: When Gandalf suddenly includes an extra member on their quest, everything changes. The woman known only as 'The Stranger' seems at first to be nothing but a madwoman living in the wilds. But she turns out to be more than anyone expected and Thorin finds himself the most surprised of all. From the moment of their meeting her fate is forever twined with each member of the company.


_Authors Notes: As you read this, keep in mind that Amon Sul is the actual name of the ruined outpost at Weathertop, the Breelings and the people of the shire call it Weathertop because it is the highest point of the Weather Hills. I made a choice to use the name Vili for Fili and Kili's dad. Several other authors have used the same and it fits with the Dwarves naming scheme, it generally seems to be accepted as fanon. Lastly, I'm not explicitly keeping a timeline in this fic. It is sorta AU after all._ _I've done my best to use this note to answer any questions that may come up about this story, but as always, people are welcome to PM me with any questions. Otherwise, I'd love to hear from you in a review!_

 **Chapter One: An Unexpected Detour**

When Gandalf had 'suggested' that they detour up through the north end of the Weather Hills, Thorin had not been happy. But the wizard had brought him the map and the key and for that, the Dwarf prince was willing to humor the man and his eccentricities. In the end it might even expedite their journey. Travelling directly east from the northernmost point of the Weather Hills would take them straight to the High Pass in the Misty Mountains. It would also put them nearly a full day further north of Rivendell than was originally planned. The further from those blasted elves, the better.

Gandalf reckoned it was another five days to whatever destination it was that he intended if the weather held. Six days if the rains came. And they looked to come any time. Gandalf had told Thorin very little about where or who they were going to see. From what he _had_ said and the bit that could be implied from the wizard's mutters and rambles, Thorin gathered that they were travelling to the abode of a hunter who had lived on the far northern edge of the hills for some sixty years.

They camped alongside the Great East Road at the end of their fourth day out of Bree. The old ruined outpost at Weathertop could just be seen on the horizon as the sun was setting. The grey wizard had urged them to stop early for the night and to turn directly north in the morning.

"There have been Orcs spotted meeting at Amon Sul in the last year." Gandalf explained to Thorin as Bombur shuffled around the camp passing out bowls of hearty venison stew made from a fortunate hunting opportunity earlier in the day. Thorin uttered a word of thanks as he received his own bowl. The company were still lauding praises on his younger nephew for making the kill and Thorin watched as Kili mimed shooting an arrow to Ori. The youngest in their company had been flipping through his journal whilst on the road and had missed the moment when Kili had taken the shot.

Thorin smiled. As reluctant as he had been to allow his sister's sons to come on this journey, he was glad they were here. They thrived in the open air and away from the dim caves of the Blue Mountains and it was good for them to see the world. Since their father Vili's death nearly twenty years ago, they had grown restless. His sister, Dis had finally relented and allowed them on the quest after nearly a year of begging on the part of her sons. Thorin had been easier to convince, though he'd only originally disagreed to their joining because Dis had said no. Thorin was not about to go against his sister. Especially when it came to her sons.

Needless to say, she had extracted promises to return from each of them. Even giving Kili a rune stone carved by her own hands. The boy had grumbled when his mother had pressed it to his palm before the gates or Ered Luin, but Thorin caught him turning it about in his fingers most every night. Thorin released a little sigh as he turned back to Gandalf.

"You think we will be attacked?" He asked in a low voice to keep the others from hearing. Gandalf gazed several long moments at the fire, his eyes unreadable. The blaze had been set in a pit dug deeper than normal. Thorin wouldn't forbid his folk from building a fire, but it was still wise to be cautious. The deeper hole shielded the excess light from the flames and made their camp less visible from afar. The wizard turned flinty eyes back to Thorin and his gaze softened though his expression remained serious.

"There have been no attacks and no Orc sightings at the ruin in nearly a month. The far west has been little touched by evil and Orcs are few in these lands. Even so, I wish to take no chances. The nature of this quest is far too sensitive and to be beset by Orcs this early in our journey would be most unfortunate."

"Indeed." Thorin muttered before tipping his bowl to his mouth and taking a generous sip of the stew. He was reminded of how much he disliked venison. After years of wandering the lands before settling in the Blue Mountains, his people had well gotten used to eating venison. But to Thorin, its gamey taste evolved into bitterness at the thought of the strife of the scattered peoples of Erebor. Dwalin caught his gaze across the fire and Thorin knew he was thinking the same thing. They shared a caustic smile and finished their food, politely complimenting Bombur when he asked about the meal.

Thorin's gaze turned to assess their resident burglar. He was huddled in a green cloak borrowed from Dwalin several days prior when the ornery warrior had tired of watching him shiver and tremble in the torrential rain that had hit them the morning they had left Bree. It hadn't rained since, but Dwalin had told the Hobbit to keep the spare cloak. The rain would be upon them again soon enough. He seemed to be using the cloak now as a sort of barrier.

It was clear he was uncomfortable within the close dynamic of the Dwarven company. And he was obviously equally uncomfortable on the road. Thorin had to swallow a derisive snort. Some of the others had tried to bring the Hobbit round to their various conversations. But after little response from the Halfling they had left him alone, figuring he'd come around on his own.

Of the entire company, he seemed most comfortable with Bofur. Though that might have been because Bofur simply wouldn't leave the wretched little man be. He would sit next to the Hobbit talking for hours on end, pausing only when Bilbo answered the occasional question or offered some insight to a topic. The others all seemed to know what Bofur was doing, and left him to it. With the exception of Bifur who always stuck close to his cousin. The axe embedded in his skull from a long ago battle had left the toymaker able only to speak a few broken and garbled words of Westron and Bofur was his translator.

He spoke perfect Khuzdul, but speaking the sacred language of Mahal outside of Dwarven halls was forbidden. Of course, Thorin wouldn't have been surprised if Gandalf had somehow learned enough of their sacred language to understand them if ever they did speak it. But the Halfling certainly didn't need to know anything about the Dwarves sacred culture.

 **xXx**

The next morning they set off from their camp and headed north, keeping Amon Sul just on the horizon to their right. Two days of travel passed and the old outpost had fallen far behind them but Gandalf still seemed wary, pacing the perimeter of the camp and occasionally disappearing altogether for several long moments. He came back after some time and waved Thorin over to a log by the fire.

"There are signs of Orc packs nearby. About a week old, but far too fresh for my liking. You should push our pace tomorrow." Thorin gazed out into the dark, beyond the wall of light their merry fire provided. His nephews hovered nearby along with Dwalin and Balin, interested to hear more.

"I will do so Gandalf, if you will do something for me." The Dwarven prince replied.

"Confound it all young Dwarf! Have you no sense?" The old wizard exclaimed. "We must be well away as quickly as possible. Our luck will not hold forever and I've no doubt that any Orcs within a league of here will soon notice that _someone_ has been by."

"Gandalf, I must know who it is you are taking us to see." Thorin stated firmly. At this, a couple of the others spoke up. Fili the most outspoken.

"Yes Gandalf, tell us why it's so important we meet some old hermit at the edge of the wilds?" Gandalf turned unreadable eyes to Thorin's heir and for some reason he wasn't so sure he wanted to know about the old man's schemes after all.

"The person we are going to meet will be an invaluable companion on this quest." The wizard answered vaguely. Balin turned sharp eyes to Gandalf.

"We've no need of anyone more for our company Gandalf. We number fourteen, the Hobbit was chosen to make the number! A lucky digit, and we're going to need all the luck we can get." Several of the company nodded and muttered their agreement. Thorin watched the wizard with thoughtful eyes.

"Worry not, Balin." Gandalf replied. "I do not think this person will need to sign a contract and join the company. Think of them as more of a… a consultant. They've likely no desire for your dragon-gold or jewels, and even less desire for company. It will be quite the chore to get them to agree to come. But I do believe they must come all the same." The wizard turned his steely gaze to Thorin as the rest of the company quipped and squabbled over what Gandalf could possibly mean.

"Gandalf, are you certain we must have this person along?"

"I am." The wizard replied.

"And you have stated that they will be of vital importance to this quest?" The company began to fall silent as Prince and Wizard continued their stare down.

"I have."

"Very well then." Thorin agreed after a long contemplative silence. "What is this person called?"

Gandalf smiled broadly and relaxed in his seat the slightest bit.

"To the people of The Shire and Bree, they are known as The Stranger."


End file.
